And the Saints Kept Marching On
by Saphy
Summary: Freedom is so dearly bought - and so rarely received. A response to the HMS Lycanthropic Feline challenge.


Title: And the Saints Kept Marching On

Author: Saphron

Rating: PG-13 for language and suggestive things.

Summary: Freedom is so dearly bought - and so rarely received.

A/N: This was written in response to the R/M challenge on the Lycanthropic Feline board.  Couldn't work the thong in plausibly - sorry!  Thanks to Sasha, who is great company to keep while writing.  To Juno, who coerced me into writing this here fic and therefore can be blamed for any psychological damage this may (or may not) cause.  The final scene is now added.

~*~

      The rain splashed down the marble steps.  Small puddles formed in invisible recesses all over the ground, worn down by the tread of anxious men through the years into smooth grooves that threatened to seep into shoes and climb up the hems of robes if the pelting showers above didn't soak them down already.

      People said that it was the worst storm that had come across Britannia since the beginning of the last century.  Some people thought that the sky was falling.  Some people thought that the world was ending.

      _But, thought the dark-haired witch that emerged into the rain, _it doesn't really matter, because the world has already ended for me.__

     She pushed past two wizards who were whispering to each other…

     _It has been officially decreed that all Dark creatures be removed to this new camp at Acheron's Peak, effective immediately…_

      …and stepped into the rush of foot traffic that frequented these streets, all bustling busily towards one destination or another with a single-minded concentration of a colony of ants.

     A bunch of lousy, pathetic, idiotic insects, the whole bloody lot.  

     But there had no queen; nay, instead there had been a king, a dunderhead whose paranoia had driven him to madness like the demon-possessed sheep that had been driven into the river.

      She told herself that the drops of water running down her cheeks was from the rain; had it not been for the hollowness inside, she would have believed it, too.

      _"Darling, don't cry, don't cry, it'll be all right…"_

_      "They called me a whore.  They called me a goddamn whore."_

_      "Calm down.  It's nothing – they don't know what they're saying."_

_      "How can you be so calm?  How can you let them…degrade you so that you're not even considered human in their eyes anymore?"_

_      "You get used to it after a while."_

_      "I don't bloody want to get used to it!"_

_      Silence._

_      "You don't have to marry me if you don't want to.  It's not too late to get out of it.  I'll understand if you want to leave."_

_      "I'm not leaving you…I can't.  I won't."_

       A rush of frigid water hit her side, and she turned around in surprise, her robes now thoroughly drenched and soiled with something unrecognizable…and distinctly putrid.

     "Sorry, _Professor," shouted a heavyset man holding a bucket in front of a store amidst the snickers of bystanders._

     She shot a glare at him, filled with suppressed rage, but pushed through the gathering crowd (they gave her a wide berth, and with good reason) and walked as fast as humanly possible to an empty space off the side of the busy street.  Here, wizards and witches appeared and disappeared, marking this stone-paved lot as their arrival or departure area. 

     With a deep breath, she Apparated out of the courtyard, her mind focused on a lovely little village sitting beneath the shadow of an imposing castle.

     A moment later, her feet hit the ground as she came into being once again.  A chilling wind swept across the courtyard, sending a fine mist of water from the fountain in her direction, although it was nothing like the rain back in Diagon Alley.  She shivered as her soaked robes blew against her body, and she walked forward towards the castle, a step at a time.

     _Sneezing despite the flames dancing in the fireplace.  They had kindled their own flames earlier, but she now felt cold and weary in her armchair.  Behind her, she heard the sound of rustling fabric and a moment later, warm, gentle hands sweep a flannel shirt around her.  She turned around and found her husband, smiling from where he was leaning against her chair.  Without a shirt._

_     "You were cold," he pointed out, shrugging slightly._

      She could see the castle now as she walked over the bridge; the rough-hewn walls of Hogwarts rose from a spot unseen up into several towers that disappeared above the clouds.  Her pace quickened significantly as she almost ran to the door in a hurry, ignoring the strong winds that some stray strands from her bun, didn't care at all anymore because she wanted to be home, to forget any of it happened.

      Pushing the doors open, she slowed down in the Entrance Hall to a slow walk, letting her footsteps echo in the empty Hall as she slowly ascended the stairs with painstaking precision.  Her left grasped the marble banister at the top – cool under her hands – and she lingered but for a moment to catch her breath and enjoy the solitude, the first moment she had been able to have with herself.

      A foul smell rose to her nose, and it took her a moment to recognize that it was coming from her robes.  The disgusted sneers of the crowd as she had passed them came back to her – some who were her very students – and she let go of the banister abruptly and turned down the hallway to her apartment.

      _Dolores Umbridge sitting in her chair up high, a greedy smile on her face.  "Clearly, your monster of a husband has…seduced you into believing lies, Professor McGonagall.  I'm sorry, but we cannot accept your testimony.  I only hope that time will give you a clarity of mind to see that our decree is, in the end, mutually beneficial."_

_      That bloody smile on her face again later.  "I win, Minerva."_

      She wrenched the doorknob open with a rough twist and entered, dumbfounded.

      The apartment was in shambles; it looked as if a typhoon had descended upon the place and left it ripped to shreds.  Drawers were left open, devoid of content, and cupboard doors were hanging for their lives on their hinges.  She dropped her things on the floor and took a step forward, trying to survey the damage and figure out what had happened.

      "Remus?" she called out tentatively, noticing some overturned chairs around a table scarred by hexes that marked the location of a brawl.

       There was no answer.  She moved on to the small kitchenette, eyes widening as she began to understand, to comprehend, what had taken place in her absence.  A plate of food lay unfinished on the table; the accompanying fork could be found on the floor a couple feet away.  A drawer had been ripped out from its location and overturned, scattering silverware (_my mother gave that to me as a wedding gift_) across the floor.  Pans and heirloom plates had been knocked loose; a bookcase had toppled forward.

      The missing drawer sat next to the bookcase, covered in blood and something else she didn't want to know.

      "Remus?  Remus!"  Urgency made her follow after the rusty-colored footprints, running into the bedroom.  Fear made her freeze when she saw the footprints end at the bed…and the body began.

     _"Look, Minerva, the fireworks are starting!"_

     _She had tripped as she was running, and had crashed into Remus.  The two of them had fallen onto the bed, she on top, and they stared at each other for a few moments, confused._

_     "Minerva, why is it that you're always clumsy these days?" he teased with a grin._

_     She leaned over and kissed him.  And lustfully kissed him again._

_     They had missed the fireworks that night._

     Someone had pulled the curtains out from the ties around the bedpost and they now fell around the bed, obscuring it from view.  Two booted feet stuck out from the curtain.

     Her hand grabbed the curtain and with a jerk, she yanked the curtain open.

     A man's body lay there, face down, with a dagger stuck in his back.  Trembling, she rolled the body over even as her mind screamed for her not to.

      "Remus, Remus, you foolish man," she murmured, staring down at the corpse sadly.

     Slowly, she covered up his corpse again with the curtain.  _Respect for the dead_, she told herself as she stumbled to the bathroom, now desperate for a change of scenery and a chance to rid herself of the strong stench.  It offered her a small measure of comfort to see that the bathroom had not been torn apart as the rest of the rooms; she saw his razor, still sitting on the counter where it had been still this morning when he had finished shaving, the hamper still stuffed with clothes from yesterday, the towels haphazardly thrown onto the rack – it was almost as if he had never left at all.

     The smell from earlier hit her a moment later, overpowering the light flowery scent that had been in the bathroom, and she cried out as she tore off her robes and undergarments in a flurry and, jamming them into the hamper, leapt back against the wall, panting.  Her eyes remained glued onto the tall wicker basket as if it had become tainted just by holding her robes while she sidled over to sunken bath (full with warm water), never losing sight of her foe until she immersed to her neck in steaming water, surrounded by the cool marble walls of the small pool; only then did she deign it safe to remove her spectacles and relax again.

      She couldn't see the hamper anymore from where she sat – only the soft tendrils of steam that rose from the surface of the water; taking a deep breath, she sank lower into the water until the water was up to her chin.

      _A lazy smile spread on her face as he leaned in, trailing butterfly kisses along her jaw as he went up to her ear._

_     "Remus," she breathed, sliding her arms around his waist, "I miss you – I miss you so much..."_

_     He didn't reply; instead, he shifted downwards slightly, turning his attention to her pale neck as his hands trailed up her body to her shoulders, kneading them gently until the tension there had left._

_     Suddenly, he stopped, lifting his head up so that he faced her, and started chuckling softly._

_     "What?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes._

_     Grinning, he said, "Are you purring?"  
     "I most certainly am not!" she said, an indignant look on her face._

_     "Down, kitty," he murmured, stroking her cheek lightly.  "I'm going to miss having you by my side, you know."_

_     There was no humor in her voice anymore.  "Don't say that; don't think that it might not work."  A pause.  "Just tonight, let it be about us, okay?  We can talk in the morning before-"_

_     He didn't let her finish.  It was enough for her._

     The man she knew was not the corpse that she had seen in her bed; it couldn't have been him, she told herself, he had to be alive.  He _had_ been alive this morning – she had felt him and touched him.  And yet…he was dead now.  Lifeless.  The memory of the Wizengamot, and Umbridge's grotesquely pleased face as that woman delivered his sentence, came to her – their apathetic gazes as she pleaded for them to understand, their ability to turn a blind eye to the _injustice_ of their ruling…her mind whirled frantically as she remembered the hecklers – those bastards – she _would_ avenge his death; she would show them how bloody wrong they had been and then…

     …and then Azkaban for her crimes, for 'wrongs against the people'.  Umbridge would sentence her to the Kiss – she knew that bitch of a woman was just waiting to – and then she'd be completely separated from Remus.  Forever.

     She couldn't do anything.  She couldn't save him; she couldn't avenge his death; she couldn't even speak out against the law.  The humiliation she had faced while Umbridge had gloated, insulting her and her husband…she could have borne it while he had still been there, but now that he was gone, that woman's insults would only grow…

     Her eyes burned – suddenly, the water was too hot, the air too suffocating – and her hands blindly reached for the wall of the pool, even as she felt her resolve melting away.  She gasped for air and let it out slowly, leaning over the edge.

     And it came, gradually at first: hot, searing tears that spilled out of the corners of her eyes and splashed into the water, and then huge, choking sobs that threatened to tear her apart with its violence until she could no longer speak even if she wanted to, no longer move even if she were so inclined.__

     The hamper came back into view, a hazy shape through the fog.  He was gone.  Truly, undeniably…gone.  She longed for his voice, to tell her that everything would be all right; she longed for his touch, to reassure her that she was not falling out of control.  She sought a restraint to keep her from madness, and found only a broken tether.  And, as she stared through the lifting haze to the bathroom counter, something came to her.

    Before she could dwell longer on the thought, she climbed out of the water and, grabbing her bathrobe off of rack, shrugged it on and tied it firmly at the waist.  She glanced at herself in the mirror with a sharp eye and adjusted the collar of the bathrobe, shifting it slightly to the left so that it was straight; when she was satisfied with her appearance, she strode across the room to a cabinet above the counter.  Opening the cabinet, she took out an unmarked bottle, still full, pulled the stopper off, and tossed it off to the side.

     She stared at the bottle for a brief moment – _yes, I want to do this_ – and lifted it up high, a faint mockery of a smile on her face.

     "A toast to justice," she murmured, bringing the bottle to her lips.  She closed her eyes; the bottle, now empty, crashed to the ground.  _Dreamless Sleep, indeed_, she thought vaguely before her head struck the ground and there was no more.

~finis~


End file.
